


The Night Vale Community Radio Intern Outreach Scheme

by Silvertongue



Category: Warehouse 13, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:19:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvertongue/pseuds/Silvertongue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone's attic accumulates junk, even America's Attic is not immune to this. Shame it's less endless wonder and more creeping horrors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Vale Community Radio Intern Outreach Scheme

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of the characters of 'Warehouse 13' or 'Welcome to Night Vale'. The rights belong to Syfy & Commonplace Books. I do not use them for any means of fiscal gain.

“Okay, that's this aisle tagged, tided and inventoried,” Claudia Donovan sighed, pulling the purple latex gloves from her hands and stowing them in her bag. She sniffed her hands gingerly and pulled a face. “Mmm, latex-y goodness.” 

“Yo, Artie!” 

There was a crash and a string of muttered curses in what sounded like Russian from a few aisles away. “What?”

“I've finished up here”

“Did you have to shout that quite so loud?” 

“Sorry, Artie, I forgot how zen you got when you and the Warehouse are having some ’quiet time’.” 

She grinned at the blustering noise that came in response.

“I'm going to move on to...” She looked at a scrunched up piece of paper in her hand. “...Keter-Vale A113. ‘kay?”

“Yes, fine!”

She shoved the piece of paper back in her back pocket and walked off. She muttered under her breath as she walked down the various aisles. "Note to self: never let Artie near John McInroe's tennis racket.” 

She came to stop at a wire mesh gate covering the entrance to an aisle. She frowned before glancing up at the sign posted overhead. 

’Keter-Vale 1138’

She shook her head. “Paranoid, much?”

She pulled open the gate and stepped inside. A whole array of items were strewn across the shelves, an even more chaotic selection than was normal for the Warehouse. They hadn't been organised, it looked like they had just been tossed inside. A slightly bent metallic sign that read: 'Dog Park'; various pieces of clocks; a black cloak. 

She rolled her eyes. “Right Artie, so the bomb site look is fine, if you've done it but woe betide if I knock something one centimetre out of place...” 

She pulled her gloves on before casting a critical eye over the shelves. Where to start?

There was a pounding of footsteps and a crash as a figure collided with the metal fence. “Stop!” Artie yelled.

Claudia froze, halfway towards grabbing the ’Dog Park’ sign. “What?”

“What are you doing in there?” 

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Um... inventory.”

“Not in there you're not.” 

“Why not? Have you seen the state of this place?” she asked, casting an arm at her surroundings. 

“Trust me Claudia it's safer not to. Now just come out of there, slowly and; don’t. Touch. Anything.”

She shrugged bemused, before walking out. 

Artie slammed the gate shut, casting a fearful look at the ’Dog Park’ sign. 

“Okay, spill. What is all this stuff?”

“Nothing, just junk.” He rooted around in his pockets before pulling out a piece of clear quartz. He held it against the gate, there was a flash as the metal glowed purple. 

“Then why's it in the Warehouse? I know this is meant to be ’America's Attic’ and all but this is taking it a bit far.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “No, no. It's now what it is but where it's from that’s important. This is the collected trash and cast-offs of a town that you really never, ever want to visit.”

“Why not?” She asked.

“It's hard to explain, but trust me it's not a nice place. Imagine Norman Rockwell, David Lynch, H.P. Lovecraft and Stephen King created a town together then you might be slightly, slightly close to what it's like.”

“So what's it called? I'll make sure to cross it off my next vacation time.”

Artie opened his mouth and then snapped it shut when, as if it had heard her question, an old fashioned wireless on a high shelf clicked on and a soft, smooth voice came playing out of it.

“Trumpets playing soft jazz from out of the dark desert distance. They come tomorrow. It is too late for us. Welcome to Night Vale.”

There was another click as the radio shut off, the amber light within it dying slowly.

“Okay...that wasn't creepy” She said turning to face Artie, looking disconcerted. 

He looked at her over the rim of his glasses. “See?”

“Yep, yep. Stuff from creepy town equals bad. Big old check.”

“Now why don't you go and check the aquarium. The sealant on the neutraliser pump has finally given up and it's leaking into the water. They aren't happy about it.”

She pulled a disgusted face. “Aaartie? Really?”

“Yes really. Now go!”

She threw up her hand in mock surrender. “Going, going.”

“And don't forget to wear the suit!” He shouted after the retreating figure that was muttering under its breath.

He rounded on the aisle, an accusing finger levelled at one of the radios. “And as for you! Behave! You've had enough interns from us, go recruiting elsewhere. Don’t think I don’t know you can hear this Cecil...”

With a final glare at the 'Dog Park’ sign, it's lettering already fading into nothing, he turned and left. 

Another soft click echoed throughout the deserted aisle. “And now, the weather...”

Gentle strains of music followed Artie as he walked further and further away.


End file.
